


A Kiss is a Lovely Trick

by persephonedream



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephonedream/pseuds/persephonedream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first real 1D fic, so let me know what you think! However, be advised its not beta'd or Brit picked.   Basically inspired by this fill at http://britishsexual.livejournal.com/785.html?thread=12049#t12049 which was: KISSING!FIC - JUST LOTS AND LOTS OF KISSING - SLOW, FAST, LAZY REALLY DETAILED LOVELY KISSING lol.  Its been filled several times and brilliantly, but I figured I'd post my own little take on it for fun. Oh and its kind of a five times fic I guess?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss is a Lovely Trick

Surprise

 

Their first kiss is a mess. For one, they're both drunk. Not merely buzzed, but full out plastered, dancing in some club Louis found, skin slick with sweat as they sway to the beat. Harry's not even sure how it happens, he simply knows that one moment, they're plastered together, hips grinding, both of them laughing as they shout the words to the music. The next, he turns his head and Zayn's lips are there, curved up in that private smile he saves especially for the four of them.

That expression is all the temptation Harry needs; not one to resist something so tantalizing, he leans in and licks Zayn's jaw, meeting his dark, dark eyes as he nibbles his way up. For a moment, the rest gets lost: the club, flashing lights, pounding music. All he can focus on is that plump lower lip, drawing it in, biting down, licking; Zayn's eyes are still on his, wide open as he pulls Harry in tight, their teeth clacking, and thrusts his tongue into Harry's mouth. The whole thing is wet and uncoordinated and messy, and they watch each other all the while, which should be weird, maybe, but isn't. Harry thinks later it's because this is them, and nothing is ever really weird between the five of them.

They might go on kissing forever, hips grinding together, making no semblance of dancing, if not for Louis. Jumping on them, screaming like a banshee, he knocks both to the ground. The moment breaks, and they're all laughing, tangled together in a puppy pile. Harry barely thinks of the kiss again (except for late, late at night, when its quiet and he's alone, his hand wrapped around his cock.) After all, they've all kissed each other in one form or another; it's nothing out of the ordinary. Right?

 

Friendship

The second time, they're not drunk. The situation is as different as night to day and Harry cannot really comprehend just why it happens. But maybe it just comes down to friendship; and though this isn’t how most lads interact, they're different, aren't they? Mostly he thinks that they're both lonely.

Being on the road is amazing, and being able to see America even more so. Still, everything is different, unfamiliar and once the novelty wears off, they all find themselves wishing for home. Homesickness is both harder and easier for the ones who have girlfriends-harder for obvious reasons, but easier because they have someone to talk to at the end of a long day, someone to look forward to seeing when they finally get home.

Harry and Niall simply have days to count off and their mums waiting. Still, Harry thinks he's holding up okay until Eleanor starts freaking out over the Larry Stylinson business, and Louis takes her seriously. He can certainly see El's concerns-- how she gets hate tweets and rude comments, even though there's never been a thing between them. But still, the more Louis distances himself in public, refusing to be photographed next to Harry for fear of a new rumor, the more he feels as if he's losing his best friend to a mirage. That hurts.

Somehow, Zayn seems to clue in, and as if he and Liam have formed a plan, he begins to spend more time with Harry, as does Liam with Louis. Harry finds Zayn's attention confusing at first; completely different to how he relates to Louis, because they don't share that instant bond, nor do they share many interests outside of the band. And yet, despite all that it works. After a few weeks, Harry begins to find himself looking for the dark haired boy when he needs a hug, sharing his thoughts with him, sitting in silence as Zayn smokes, even falling asleep in his bed after a movie marathon.

Still, up to then the situation is all very innocent, and if Harry notes the occasional zing of attraction when Zayn looks at him a certain way, well, he figures that is only normal for a red blooded boy whose not been laid in two months.

But then, the tattoos happen and Harry's viewpoint changes. They decide to get the ink in LA and the tatt’s not Harry's first, but it's been awhile, and he has forgotten how the slide of the needle, the tiny, individual stings, makes him feel. Having Zayn there is almost embarrassing, because there is something about the repetitive pain, the buzzing of the needles, the idea of being permanently marked, that turns him on beyond belief. And now, Zayn is part of that, his scent clinging in Harry's nose, his quiet voice murmuring above the noise of the tattoo gun as he chats with the artist.

The moment is unbelievably erotic, and he leaves the shop on a high that carries him all the way back to the hotel. Finally, once they are alone, Zayn looks at him, amused.

'You really like it, huh? You look blissed out, man.'

Giddy laughter bubbles in his throat and he goes on instinct, tackling Zayn to the ground, careful not to hurt the other lads arm. A quick tussle finds him pinned to the floor, and they're both laughing like idiots now, and Harry doesn't even think, merely raises his head to press against that smiling mouth.

Zayn's breath catches, and then he's responding, trading long, lazy kisses, lips gliding together to suck with just a flick or two of tongue. The moment can't last on that level, though, and finally Zayn breaks contact, rolling over to lie at Harry's side.

“I forgot how good you are at that- of course I was drunk last time.” Zayn's amusement is plain and as they meet eyes, they both start laughing again.

“I could remind you some more?” Though it is said with a cheeky flash of his dimples, Harry is still making a serious offer.

Zayn seems to hesitate, before shaking his head ruefully. 'I can't.'

The reason why hangs between them unsaid.

Perrie.

Despite the heat of the moment, Zayn really is madly in love with his girlfriend.

Exhaling loudly, Harry notices that most of the buzz from the tatt is finally gone, and he's glad. Now things can get back to normal and they can put this behind them, hide the awkward moment under a veneer of normality.

'I need a drink; and to sound like Niall, I'm starving.'

Zayn's quiet laugh is enough response. 'Come on then, Hazza. Can't have you wasting away on us, the American girls would kill me. Let's get drunk and order room service.'

It's the best offer Harry's had all day.

Comfort

 

When Perrie breaks up with Zayn, he doesn’t throw a tantrum, or yell, or get mean. He simply withdraws, hiding behind his iPod and his ear buds. He lets them all care for him in their own way, bringing him books and games and myriad of diversions, and yet Harry can tell it’s simply a kindness to his friends, that the offerings do little to actually help. Typical Zayn, really, caring about them more than himself, while preferring to grieve in private.

Harry is as lost as the rest, and it doesn’t help that they’re in America when she does it, away from even the most ordinary comforts of home. For that alone, Harry could throttle her. Yet he understands her point of view. Dating one of them is hard. There is no chance of normal, no Saturday night date, and no shoulder to lean on when you’ve had a bad day. He gets it, even as he desperately tries to think of a way to help his friend.

Two weeks stretch into three and they’re all frayed, as if Perrie had tossed them all over. Which, he supposes, she did—they’re so interwoven now, if one hurts they all do. Finally, on a hotel night, he shuffles the rest off to have a night out and braves Zayn’s room alone, determined to make some sort of chink in the other lad’s well-constructed armor. 

Not sure what he’s doing, he knocks on the door and waits, apprehensive. Zayn answers and looks worn, beaten down, and still, Harry privately acknowledges, absolutely gorgeous. He glances around, and then opens the door wider, looking confused.

“Where are the others?”

Harry holds back the sigh at the resigned tone. “They went out. I wanted to stay, spend some time with you.”

Zayn looks surprised, as well he might—he’s not exactly been a load of fun lately. But he doesn’t kick Harry out, simply falls on the bed, staring at the T.V. where some unfamiliar American program is playing.

Not waiting for an invite, Harry kicks off his shoes and crawls up the mattress, managing to wrap the other man in his arms as he leans against the headboard. Zayn stiffens for a moment and then, with a sigh, goes limp in Harry’s grip, allowing his arms to creep up and squeeze back.

Finally content, Harry threads a hand through Zayn’s hair to pet. They watch TV for a while in silence and Harry is content to stay this way all night. But when Zayn moves, wiggles up to stare into his eyes, he adjusts, smiling tentatively.

“Y’ok, love?”

Zayn doesn’t smile in return, just stares, unspeaking, before finally exhaling.

“Kiss me, Harry? Like you did before, like you mean it.”

The question is a surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate.

Cautious, he leans forward, lips pressing to the others’ softly, tongue flicking out to lick and taste, giving Zayn every opportunity to pull back. However, it’s Zayn who amps it up; pressing his body to Harry’s, molding their mouths together, licking over teeth to stroke the roof of his mouth. 

Harry moans and sucks on Zayn’s tongue, wanting more, wanting everything, yet fighting the urge to grind into Zayn’s hip. Even now, lost in a haze of need-want-need he gets that this isn’t about sex, not for Zayn. If anything, Harry is simply a stand in for Perrie, and much as that hurts, he cannot deny the comfort. 

Still, he doesn’t let himself surrender completely, stays aware of every breath, every move, until he senses Zayn’s withdrawal. And then he eases back. Holding him in a shallow embrace, he lets Zayn shudder in his arms, lets him make the first move, burying his face in Harry’s neck, eyes wet against his skin.

Neither of them speaks as the tears flow, but its okay. Harry stares at the ceiling and resolutely repeats that to himself, as Zayn relaxes in his arms and at last, falls into sleep. 

He’s come to care for Zayn too much, maybe; letting the other man take up space in his heart really, really isn’t wise. He knows this. But he figures, as long as Zayn doesn’t know, as long as he can keep it under control, they’ll be alright.  
Everything is okay.

 

Anger

 

After Perrie, after the last kiss, and the awkwardness of the next morning, Harry decides to keep his distance. He tells himself its best for both of them, but he knows that for him, it is a basic form of self-preservation. While Zayn sees him as a good friend, a lark perhaps, he has become too invested, too emotionally involved, and needs that step back. 

Only Lou guesses at his feelings, but he doesn’t bring it up, simply does what any loyal mate would do and helps deflect any attention Harry’s withdrawal arouses to himself.

Its two months later that Zayn finally breaks through Lou’s bulldoggish presence, cornering Harry in the studio as Louis is working on his vocals.

“Can we talk, Haz? Been forever; I miss you.”

And yeah, Harry is a sucker for Zayn in general, but for Zayn’s eyes in particular, specifically when they’re so sad. So he has no defense now, simply nodding in response.

Without words they make their way outside and then, Harry follows up the staircase to the roof. This area has become a quick favorite, secluded from the ever present paparazzi, representing a brief oasis of peace in their jumbled, hectic lives. Once they’re above, Harry isn’t sure what to do. He wants to act normal, but isn’t quite sure how, because his normal hasn’t been the same for weeks. 

Not looking his way, Zayn taps out a fag and lights it, sucking in deeply and exhaling a plume of smoke.

“So, you’ve been avoiding me, right?”

They aren’t the words he was expecting, but then, Harry never knows what to expect from Zayn, not really. 

“I. No, I mean. Why would you think?”

Not one complete sentence in that, and he winces inwardly, even as he struggles to maintain composure under dark, hooded eyes.

“C’mon Haz; I’m not stupid, yeah? I mean, we haven’t really talked since that night. Since you came to my room and we snogged.”

Out in the open it sounds sordid, and Harry can’t hold back the wince, ducking his head and hoping his hair will cover his reaction. 

Snogged. Yeah, that is what it was for Zayn: a Band-Aid to put on the bleeding wounds Perrie had left behind. He’d made that clear the next morning, hadn’t he, when he’d kindly but firmly pushed Harry out of the room, while not once meeting his eyes.  
Never mind that it might mean more to Harry. Fuck his feelings.

Strangely, the unexpected spurt of anger energizes him, making him dare to look up and meet Zayn’s wary gaze without fear.

“No we haven’t, have we. You think of a reason for that, or just assume its Harry being a moody bitch again?”

The vicious tone and blunt words seem to have an effect, and Zayn is scowling now. Harry doesn’t care, in fact as his fists clench, part of him wants to pummel and hurt the way he is hurting.

“I never fucking said that, and I don’t think it either; look, I just want to clear the air, right? I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have used you that way, and I know it was wrong of me to ask, I just…..I needed someone I guess.”

Harry’s laugh is vitriol, and nothing that has ever come from him before.

“Right, great; you needed someone. Soooo glad I could help, but I guess if it hadn’t been me, any bloke would’ve sufficed, aye? Fuck you, Zayn; other people besides you can hurt, okay? Did you ever think of that?”

Harry cannot stand to look at him anymore, he’s so raw. “Never mind. Just forget it. I’m going to just, go back. They’re probably missing us.”

Throat thick, eyes burning, he turns and heads for the heavy steel door, ignoring Zayn’s raised voice calling him back, seeking the comfort of the other lads. He’s not gone far though, when Zayn is on him, grabbing his arm first, and then when Harry shakes him off and keeps walking, shoving him face first into the wall and holding him there with the force of his body. As much as Harry’s brain screams at him to fight back, his body betrays, going limp under the pressure.

The murmur in his ear is almost anticlimactic. “Don’t do this, love; we need to talk, and you need to tell me just what the fuck that little outburst meant, okay?”

Sighing, Harry lets his forehead smack into the brick wall and wishes he were somewhere, anywhere, else. A place where he wasn’t moments from humiliating himself, maybe. Instead he just breathes, not moving until he’s released from Zayn’s grip, and allowed to turn. 

Meeting those dark, questioning eyes is difficult, but necessary and for once, he lets everything he is feeling show on his face. Zayn is but a breath away, and surely he should be able to see it, the stupidly overwhelming need and love reflecting back at him. But still, Harry says the words, knowing it’s what he has to do after that stupid display.

“It wasn’t just snogging for me. I let myself feel things I shouldn’t, okay? That’s it. Not your fault. Just me being a bloody prat.”

The softly murmured, “Harry,” nearly does him in. 

Not wanting to hear the “just friends” speech, he pushes forward and lays his lips lightly on Zayn, knows it’s likely the last time he’ll get to do so.

Barely a kiss, just a press of mouths, and it’s over just in time as the door beside them opens and Lou’s head pokes out.

“Hey lads, we actually need you in the studio; shocking I know. What have you two been up to? Hazza, you’re all scratched up—we’ll have to find you a Superman plaster, love, and I’ll punch Zayn later for damaging your gorgeous face. Come now.”  
Taking the out, Harry avoids Zayn’s eyes and follows his chattering friend through the door, hollowed out and wishing for nothing more than to crawl under a blanket and stay there for a month.

When Zayn finally comes back into the studio, Harry is sporting the bandage—Spiderman, much to Louis’ disgust—and laughing at some silly story the older lad is telling. If anyone notices he’s avoiding Zayn’s gaze, they don’t press the issue and all Harry can think is it’s no more and no less than he’d expected. 

 

Forever for now

 

Two days pass in relative peace, and Harry is grateful. Sure, there is a tiny part of him that had hoped for some reaction—a phone call, or some kind of confrontation maybe. But despite what the fan girls think he’s not actually a Disney princess, and he’s not looking for happy ever after—he’s eighteen for fucks sake. Rather, he just hopes he’s not totally fucked up a friendship.

Taking advantage of the two days off from recording, he goes out with other friends—Grimmy and his crew—enjoying the novelty of different people and new stories. He loves the lads, truly he does, but sometimes they all need a break. But on the last night, he decides to stay in. He’s tempted to call Lou or Niall, see if one of them wants to hang, but he shrugs it off and settles in for a beer and some telly.

When the doorbell chimes, and he sees Zayn on the other side, he stills, feeling distinctly unprepared to deal with this whole mess tonight. Still, he can’t not open the door.

“Hey mate; come in. Just watching some telly, you want a drink?”

Zayn shakes his head and stands in the hallway, his silence unnerving Harry. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shifts awkwardly, not quite sure how to fill the empty space between them.

Finally, Zayn speaks, although what he says is not what Harry expected. “I’ve been doing some thinking. About you. Me. Us. Whatever this is.”

Harry cannot meet the other boy’s eyes, swallowing hard and staring at the floor. Shame at what he’s caused floods through him, but he doesn’t interrupt, figuring it is best to just get this over and maybe, maybe they can move on, past his stupidity, into being friends again.

“Harry, look at me, yeah? I need to see you.”

Okay, he can do this. Looking up, he meets brown eyes so dark, utterly unfathomable. Unlike Harry, Zayn’s mood is never evident in his eyes. It is more in his stance, the way he holds his body, the tilt of his chin and the angle of his hips.  
“Fuck this.”

Before Harry can ask what, Zayn is across the hall, shoving him hard into the wall, mouths meeting and sealing together in a hot, open mouthed kiss. His eyes flutter closed, and when Zayn shoves a thigh between his spread legs, Harry doesn’t even try to contain the moan, clenching his fists tight in the material of Zayn’s jumper.

Zayn tastes like cigarettes and cinnamon and something sweet, chocolate maybe, and Harry can’t seem to get enough, licking and sucking until Zayn pulls back to bite at his lip, nudging his chin up and over. And then it’s even better, because Harry fucking loves the tiny, stinging nips, and the trail sucked down sensitive skin, Zayn taking time to lave over his collarbone as if marking him, or learning him maybe. 

All the while, Zayn’s hands are on him—one stroking up under his shirt to ghost over his ribs, the other squeezing his ass, pulling him in until he can feel the hard ridge of Zayns erection against his own. Impossible, really, not to grind against, and by the tone of Zayn’s growl, he doesn’t think the other lad minds one bit. And yet, even lost as he is, there is a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminding him of the last time they’d done this, and the end result.

Reluctant, he still manages to pull back, breath loud in the quiet hall, the murmur of the telly providing a surreal background as he and Zayn stare at each other. Before he can speak, Zayn lifts a finger and traces over his lips, eyes focused and serious.

“I think…I think it wasn’t just snogging for me either. There is a reason I kept coming back to you, Haz; even when I was in love with Perrie. God, mate, you’ve no idea how tempted I was, how much I wanted you after the tattoo. You were so perfect—so pliant, like you’d have let me do anything to you.”

Harry shudders, remembering that afternoon, admitting, “I would have.”

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head rest against Harry’s. “It was so hard to say no. I wanted to do so much to you, with you—sexy, dirty fucking things, Haz; And then after, when Perrie broke it off…..it couldn’t have been just anyone, you know? Only you. You’re the only one I wanted. You’re still the only one I want. If I haven’t fucked things up too badly?”

Relief has Harry shaking like a leaf, biting his lip, unable to believe this is real, that maybe, he can really have this. 

“Yeah. I mean, no. You haven’t. I thought I had.”

This time when Zayn kisses him, it is sweet, and sensual, and everything their kisses have never been before. And this time, when Harry pulls back, he is grinning, that familiar devilish light back in his eyes.

“I think….maybe we’ve wasted enough time, yeah? You should take me upstairs, mate.”

And so Zayn, being the bright lad he is, does.


End file.
